


Content with Isolation

by Oliver__Niko



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: For eleven years of his life, Harry Potter didn't understand how it felt to be loved. Hogwarts gave him the chance to finally be so, but in turn, made him terrified of losing those he loves back.And so, when the day comes that he does lose someone special, the blame is put on himself.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662550
Comments: 5
Kudos: 76





	Content with Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the first part of my Bad Things Happen Bingo! This is for the prompt 'It's all my fault.' Thank you, Taylor, for requesting this one! I hope you enjoy it.

Loneliness. Everyone experiences it at some point in their lives. One can be lonely even whilst surrounded by others, for it’s not simple enough to be solved by placing others in your company. As painful as it can be, it’s hardly abnormal to experience. It’s quite the opposite. People rarely cope well with long-term isolation.

But what if this isolation is your norm from day one? Or at least, from the days that you are able to remember? For Harry Potter, a boy who had everything he could ever need during a time he cannot recall, this loneliness and isolation from others, a lack of love and care, is the reality he faced every single day during his childhood.

Does it seem unusual when that is the reality you live in? To a degree, yes. Harry knows, to an extent, how cruel his upbringing had been. He knows that his family _shouldn’t_ have hated him so. That for him to have not known it feels to hug someone, to simply feel _wanted,_ was never right.

But this is only partially how his mind ever worked. Living in constant solitude means treating each day as survival. When he was young, it was easy to forget and ignore how he should not be treated this way, and instead simply accept it. Accepting reality rather than let it hurt you is easier, often times. Some may even deem it as ‘one of those things.’ To someone raised in a healthy, loving household, of course they would know that this cannot be summarised so simply. But to Harry, whose earliest memories involve never being treated anywhere near the same as his cousin, this simply has to be the way he views his life.

Of course, he wasn’t happy when being raised this way. It’s not as though his life never brought him _anything_ to enjoy. He had a blast when given opportunities to tease Dudley, and when he had time to do the things he likes doing, or watch television when his family was gone. But he would come to realise that these moments were only there to keep him going for the better days.

Hogwarts brought him his first friends. It had been quite the surprise to make them so easily, considering other children feared Dudley and his gang, meaning Harry never managed to make friends before. Hogwarts gave him a new page to start on. Not completely blank, for being famous—which was quite the information to process—gave him an unusual foundation. But the friends he made didn’t like him for the scar on his head, or doing this incredible feat he doesn’t even remember. 

They looked past the title of ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and loved what his so-called family had always hated. And to this day, that is what they still do, even as they learn the dangers and hardships that this unasked for destiny gives.

As Hogwarts welcomed Harry with open arms, he tried to cast aside his past. _I only have to deal with them in the summer._ And most of the time, it worked. The wondrous halls of this castle, the laughter and smiles of his friends—his life back in Privet Drive could simply … vanish. But it cannot do so perfectly.

There has always still been that fear which ignites inside Harry. The fear that he will lose everything. Though he has joked about it, and to an extent does find amusing, he knows the true reasons why he panicked so terribly right before his third year. He truly hadn’t known if blowing up his Aunt Marge would render him expelled. If he had been so, where would that lead him?

He spent the first eleven years of his life with the Dursleys. It took two years of one school to make him realise that he could not return to them, or at least not permanently, because Hogwarts is his home _._ His _loved ones_ are his home _._ And both are, to this day, still the only place he can call that.

Despite how none can be there forever.

His third year granted him someone else to deem as family. He already considered the Weasleys as such by this time, but something else felt different here. Learning that Sirius Black is, in fact, his godfather, his father’s loyal best friend, and not to blame for the events that transpired that fateful night.

Family. Actual family, more so than that which he shares the same blood with. 

The change had been quick. Extremely so. Harry was truly prepared to kill that man, believing that he had been the reason for his parents’ deaths. The moment he learned the truth, and Sirius offered his home for Harry to stay in once this blew over—which it never did, nor will it ever do so … Harry was ready to say yes. All changed, the moment he realised that Sirius is family.

But none of it can come to be. Not now.

All because of him, and the fact that he acted rashly, what his friends have accused him for already. No, he isn’t that way. No, he doesn’t dive head-first to protect those he loves. And what did he do? What did he do, when this is exactly what he argued against?

Sirius, falling into the veil. Harry, watching and waiting for the moment that Sirius would jump straight back out, grinning and joking like he usually does. A prankster. He is not dead, no, it’s all a joke. An insensitive joke, a cruel one even, but even so, Harry could laugh along, if it just meant …

Harry is not sure of the exact moment he accepted reality. Had it been the fact that Lupin was clearly trying to stop himself from breaking down, clinging to Harry to stop him from following in his godfather’s footsteps? Or was it the cruel, wicked laughter of Bellatrix, gloating in her victory?

He cannot say. All he knows is that the reality washed over him. Suffocated him. Sirius is gone, gone for good, the family he has craved for since he was a child trying not to sob as his uncle bellowed in his face.

And it’s his fault. It’s all his fault. If he had just taken a step back, simply listened when his friends tried to get through to him, he doubts Sirius would have died. He lead that man straight to his death.

More will follow. He knows that much. Voldemort wants his head, and will kill anyone necessary to retrieve it. Is it selfish of Harry to accept his friends’ company, when all he will do is put them in danger? Does he deserve their love when it will cause them ruin?

He lived without love for over half of his life. As painful as it would be, and as much as it would drive him to hopelessness, he knows he can do it again if he must.

  
  


* * *

  
  


What many don’t realise about mourning is how it’s not linear. One cannot go through the stages of grief perfectly, a textbook example. Some days will be harder than others.

Since his breakdown in Dumbledore’s office, Harry has even been one of these people, managing to convince himself that he has been through the worst. He let it out, and should now be on the way to recovery. But life is never quite so simple. His emotions seem to be all over the place, intensified—the joyful moments at the Burrow are glorious, where he wonders if he will ever be depressed again. The times where Sirius’ loss hits him in the chest takes away the belief that he can be happy.

Perhaps he knows, deep down, that isolation is not a cure for his grief. Far from it. Whilst time alone is beneficial, secluding yourself completely from loved ones only gives your despair a chance to consume you. But when he is considering leaving the Burrow completely, wanting no one else to fall for him, he finds himself caring of this fact very little.

Ron and Hermione are trying to be by his side. They always do. And God, how much he loves them, wants them there, to see their smiles and be granted the joy that can fight away even Dementors. But he can’t. Not right now, as he lies on his back on his bed, the image of the life draining from Sirius’ face playing repeatedly in his mind. A slide-show of sights he doesn’t want to see that simply keep on haunting him.

To move on, he has to stop dwelling on the ‘what ifs.’ Accept reality for what it is and try to put the blame on no one. No one, except for the woman who killed him. But when he is isolated this way, cold toast left on the nightstand next to him, all he can do is wonder what he could have done differently. All the possible outcomes that could have been, had he simply _listened._ He has been played. Voldemort may not risk planting another image in Harry’s mind, yet this does not mean that the single time had not been enough.

To think, throughout last year, he saw this connection as a good thing. He purposefully didn’t try to close off his mind to see what was beyond that door. Look where it has led him.

He jumps internally as a knock on the door interrupts this swivel down. He ignores it. Expects to hear Hermione or Ron’s voice a moment later, calling through to ask him if he’s okay, or if he wants something else to eat. The answer is no to both of those.

What he had not expected was Remus Lupin asking, “Harry, may I come in?”

“Lupin?” Harry murmurs to himself, even sitting up in his surprise. He opens his mouth wider, readying himself to speak, but he is uncertain on what he should say.

Lupin doesn’t enter. There’s a moment’s pause, before Lupin says, “I won’t force you to see me. However, if you can let me in, I would appreciate it greatly.”

There’s a gentleness to his voice. An understanding. Perhaps this, and how Lupin has given him the choice on whether Harry says yes or not, is what encourages Harry to say, “You can come in.”

Hesitation, as though Lupin has not expected this answer. The door opens and sheds light inside from the hallway; the room is dulled from closed curtains. Lupin gives a smile which does not reach his eyes. Such tired, hurting eyes that Harry can see even when the door is closed. They are surrounded by deep circles, and the face that is usually skinny as it is has become even more so.

It seems as though Harry is not the only one skipping meals, either.

“I have some water,” says Lupin, holding up the glass in one hand. “I know it’s likely difficult for you to eat, but can you drink for me, at least?”

Harry nods. He takes the glass, gulping down the water—he’s suddenly realised how parched he is, now someone else has prompted him to drink. Lupin speaks again as he has his fill.

“I’ve wanted to come visit for a little while. I just needed us both to be ready.”

The glass is placed down onto the nightstand. “Ready for what?”

“For us to talk.”

“I’ve talked enough about Sirius.”

“Perhaps. But I feel as though you may not be speaking about your emotions enough, or what you are dwelling on.” Lupin’s hand reaches for Harry’s knee, giving it a squeeze. “And you know you can talk to me about what is on your mind.”

“Talking won’t bring him back.” His voice comes out harsher than planned, but now he has started, he cannot stop. “It won’t stop the fact that it’s all my fault he died.”

Lupin’s eyes widen, but not enough to tell Harry that this is unexpected. It merely seems to be acknowledgement. “I thought, perhaps, that you might be blaming yourself.”

“Dumbledore said _he’s_ to blame,” says Harry. “But of course he’d say that. He felt guilty about last year, and felt bad for me. He was only—”

“Both of you are good people. You have strong consciences, and cared for him deeply. Neither of you are to blame, and you want to put that same blame on yourself rather than each other.” Lupin’s smile is strained. “I too have blamed myself for his death. You’re not the only one who has felt guilty over his death, which in my eyes, proves that you cannot be at fault.”

Harry stares at him. “But—but why would it be _your_ fault?”

The smile grows. As it does so, it only seems to be more painful. “See, there is little logic behind this guilty conscience, isn’t there? I know now that blaming myself is fruitless. But at first, all I could think about was how I needed to be stronger, that I could have done _something_ to save Sirius. It’s part of being human to need something or someone to blame, and a sign of our love for him that we blame ourselves instead.”

“I’m the one who was tricked, I’m the one who led us there—”

“Which would have likely happened anyway,” Lupin interrupts gently. “You had a reason to be led there. Should you have not fallen for the trap, I’m sure that something else would have been used against you. Either way, that fight would have happened, and there’s no telling who would have fallen there.”

Harry's mouth is open in silent questioning. A thousand words running through his mind, all of confusion, uncertainty—he has barely questioned this possibility. All he has thought about until now are the other paths that would have lead to a positive outcome, an alternate dimension where Sirius lives. He's not considered other ways of Sirius dying, or someone else doing so instead. 

And he's uncertain what to think about that. Logic is comforting, but when he has spent so much time ignoring it, how can he process it now?

But Lupin—kind, understanding Lupin—seems to understand this, too. This time when he smiles, it's more genuine. And Harry is left blinking in surprise as he's taken into a hug. 

"I don't expect you to feel better overnight. I'm still trying to pull through myself; I miss him terribly. But I simply cannot sit by and listen to you torture yourself this way."

Harry's forehead leans against Lupin's shoulder. Tears are brimming in his eyes. "I already felt so guilty over Cedric."

"I know."

"I should have just taken the Cup myself. I convinced him to take it with me, and because of that—"

"You're not to blame for another person’s crimes." The hug grows tighter. "Those are the only ones to blame. Not you. _Never_ you, Harry."

A single tear falls. Harry searches for another reason to hate himself, to put himself at fault. His eyes close when this isn't possible. More tears follow, and he finally returns the hug.

"Thank you, Remus," he gasps through his sobs, "and I'm sorry, I know you're mourning too. He was your friend, and I—"

"No more apologies."

Harry nods, staying silent all but for his tears. He knows the end isn't near, and this comfort may be fleeting, but the fact that there are tears on his face tells a whole other type of strength. 

He doesn't have to be alone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to request something from this bingo or a fluff one, feel free to check out my Twitter (Oliver__Niko)!


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